


Shadows Have More To Say

by p1013



Series: Drarry Discord Drabbles [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry Discord Writers Corner Drabble Challenge, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Horror, M/M, POV Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: When he stares into the darkness, sometimes something stares back.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Discord Drabbles [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646572
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	Shadows Have More To Say

**Author's Note:**

> October, 2020 - In The Dead of Night - 333 Words

It's been three months. The dirt hasn't even settled over the grave, the unsightly lump of it still visible from the entrance of the cemetery, though Harry doesn't need to see it to know the way. His footsteps have worn a trail through the dying grass, the dirt and grass clinging to his boots the way he clings to his memories. They're nestled into the tread, crushed into it with every step he takes.

It does nothing to ease the pain.

His house feels emptier now. Grimmauld's corners hold shadows close like a lover. Even in the blazing light of day, there's darkness hiding in the house. It's as much a resident as Harry, as lonely as he is, too. He finds some comfort in those hidden places, in those tiny spaces where memory is gone. No light, no sound, just silence and waiting and the possibility that the past isn't real, that it's just another late night at the office, that someone will come walking through the door again with the scent of the night air clinging to his collar and his hands like ice against Harry's bed-warmed skin.

But it isn't, and he can't. So, instead, Harry walks up and down the hallways, the darkness at his side where someone else used to be, and everything echoing dully with each footfall.

Late at night, when he stares at his ceiling and pretends that the other side of the bed isn't there, he welcomes the darkness. It's simple. It doesn't change its shape or its color. There's peace there. Silence.

And when he stares into it, sometimes something stares back.

He whispers a name, and he hears his own echoed back. Grey eyes glint, and when he reaches forward, he touches familiar skin. It's not as firm, not as warm, but it still smells like damp night air, and the hands that reach back are still cold. The lips are thin across teeth, but he kisses them anyway.

The darkness is comforting.


End file.
